


Two Rabbits Runnin'

by Phoenix1966



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Antichrist, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blasphemy, Bottom Jared, Cannibalism, Don’t copy to another site, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Prostitution, Tags Contain Spoilers, The Devil is a Sneaky Bastard, Top Jensen, Witchcraft, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix1966/pseuds/Phoenix1966
Summary: Driven near mad with hunger and despair, the townsfolk decide the cause behind all their misfortunes is a witch in their midst. And he needs to burn.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 38
Kudos: 137
Collections: SPN Cinema





	Two Rabbits Runnin'

**Author's Note:**

> Please take notice of the "Choose Not To Use Archive Warning" tag. I have tagged for what I consider the story's "big ticket items", but not for potentially everything that might need tagging. You've been warned.
> 
> This is my second time participating in the Spn Cinema Challenge, but the first time with fic. This story is _loosely_ based on Robert Eggers' 2015 film [_The VVitch_]() . So if you've seen the film, I hope you will recognize similar themes (and a few nods to items within the film) and not be disappointed it isn't a scene-by-scene retelling.
> 
> I was lucky enough to have the very talented Nisaki decide to do a few images to compliment the story, so please go and lavish her with all your praise at her art post [here](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/post/189292243074/art-for-spn-cinema-bang) .
> 
> And thanks to the wonderful Spn Cinema mods for making sure this challenge happened for yet another year!
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies that this was all for fun and no profit was made and no copyright infringement intended.
> 
> I do not give permission for anyone to translate or repost my works anywhere. If this continues, I will delete all my work and no longer post.

Jared couldn’t look away if he tried.

The post stood tall and lonely against the wounded sky, a dark shadow resolute like the mast of a sailing ship against unfriendly seas, set far enough away from the thatch-roofed homes to keep them safe from what was to come. A distant rumble, the tease of a rain that forever taunted but never arrived, echoed throughout the land, but the surrounding wood was silent, long since devoid of life that wasn’t already hunted and devoured by them all.

The drought that had gripped the village since their arrival three seasons prior had never relented. There was no reason to think that today would be any different and offer a reprieve, but Jared suspected that those gathered near hoped it would. He understood, albeit too late, that they needed a scapegoat, one to bear the sins for them all, and he was now that goat. He had come full circle in an unintentional way. It made no difference that the land was already cursed. They all had conveniently forgotten the first failed attempt and the three missing men meant to hold the fort until another group had made landfall. No one spoke about the next thirteen that had fled the area by boat, never to be seen again like the sea had swallowed them whole. All that they chose to recall was how Jared and his mother had prospered in the face of terrible adversity. And what was once thinly veiled jealously melted and, like steel under a blacksmith’s hammer, reformed into outright hatred when the skies provided no succor, their crops withered and the savages whittled down their small numbers even further. It was also not lost on them that Jared had always been an outlier.

_“Maybe the ship will bring us a bevy of beautiful girls?” Chadwick daydreamed, throwing rocks at nothing in particular. He and Jared were supposed to be checking up on the livestock, but it was more fudgelling at this point. The unforgiving skies hadn’t spared a drop for them in nearly an entire season. The grass was sparse and like straw. All that was left of their herd was a handful of nannies and a solitary buck that made do as best they could with the poor grazing, dry and yellow though it was. Most of the villagers were afraid of the buck and had named the impressively formidable beast “Black Phillip” because of his shaggy, coal-colored coat. Jared was the only one who could handle him and the others were glad to leave him to it, no one minding if he were injured by its wicked, twisted horns in the process._

_“I think supplies will be at the top of their list,” Jared sighed, stroking along the buck’s face and beard while Black Phillip remained in place and preened under the attention. Jared was never surprised that women were all that his best friend thought about. Most of the lads their age did and talked their talk (except for Jared; never him) when not lamenting their aching stomachs and bleak futures. Prayer only carried them so far. And prayer meant nothing at all to him. But they all had dreams, even Jared._

_“I know that, but you have to admit we need a few fairer our age to come here.” His friend waggled his brows knowingly. “Whom shall we marry otherwise?”_

_Jared shrugged. He knew he needed to show more interest in girls if only to blend in, but he was never moved by their form, however pleasing though they might be. He knew that made him wrong, but he couldn’t change who he was. He continued to brush Black Phillip, not able to meet Chadwick’s eye. Nevertheless, he did not miss the way Chadwick gazed at them with unease._

_“You’d do well to mind those horns, Stick Lad. It was only a fortnight past that Jacob was nearly gored by the beast,” he scolded Jared._

_Jared rolled his eyes at the foolish name. True, he was thin, but it was only his extreme height that made him look thinner than most. No one here carried anything extra on their frame any longer. “Jacob is a fool who only tries to impress Katherine with his feats of manliness.” Turning back to the goat, he asked, “You would never do that to me, would you, Phillip?” and the buck gently butted his head against Jared’s hand as if in accord with him. Jared was sure there was something else his friend wanted to warn him about and it had precious little to do with the buck. It was nothing they could talk about, though, not in the open where someone else might hear. But Jared knew that Chadwick sensed his wrongness just as much, if not more, than the others did._

_Chadwick sighed. “Well, he best get about doing what billies are supposed to do,” thrusting his hips back and forth in a crude gesture that was as old as time. “If none of these nans fall with kids by next autumn, I know someone who will be the main course at the Yuletide celebration. It isn’t natural that he hasn’t mounted any of them. Not natural at all.” And he turned away, dropping the rest of the pebbles in his hand to the ground, busying himself watching the setting sun. Jared understood that this was the closest Chadwick would come to calling him out. He didn’t know if he should have been grateful or not._

_Black Phillip stared up at Jared with a sad, mournful gaze. Jared ducked his head down, long strands of hair falling into his eyes, and whispered in the buck’s straight ear, “As soon as I hear word of the supply ship, I’ll set you free.” Phillip huffed his hot breath against Jared’s smooth face almost like a kiss and it tickled. Jared touched the spot and smiled, deciding to take it as a sign of affection. “They won’t care that ‘Thoughtless Jared’ has failed again with such a simple task like minding you because they will have food to fill their bellies and probably pretty maids to tempt their eye. I will be happily forgotten once more. I’ll keep you safe,” he promised the buck solemnly and Phillip bobbed his head once like a compact had been struck between them. The ship couldn’t come soon enough._

Jared’s gaze was pulled once more toward that solitary pillar, stark against the backdrop of bruised, slate-gray, like the heavens themselves had shunned him. There was an impressive heap of split firewood surrounding it, too. Chopping wood was all the men seemed capable of doing during these forsaken days with no herds or crops to tend to any longer and they pursued the task with a single-mindedness that bordered on madness. He was frightened, to be sure, but his body no longer responded to the threats before it. Already parched and thirsty, Jared had no spit left to swallow, throat working uselessly, clicking dry and helpless. This was the end. There was no escape for him now.

“Witch,” someone screamed.

Jared knew that voice. There was no blocking it out, no wards to offer protection against it, no balm to soothe, having heard it for almost all of the sixteen years he had spent on this earth.

Slowly, painfully, he blinked into the sound and saw Chadwick standing before a group of other boys. His hands held spoiled melons and a wet glob struck Jared just below his broken cheekbone a moment later. He flinched back, despite earlier promises he’d made to himself to stay unwavering, when the rotten fruit slid down his face in a rank, thick trail like oozing blood. His unkempt, brown locks were always the shield he hid behind when undesirable looks fell his way. But those were gone now, hacked off in rough and uneven chunks back in his cell, along with some of his clothes and the entirety of his dignity. For what he guessed had been three days (night and day had bled together in the windowless room), so he wasn’t sure), they had beaten and stripped him down to almost nothing to ready him for the coming spectacle. He saw all too clearly that every remaining member of the village—all save the only two he had ever loved—was there to send him off. He tried to stand tall, something that never came easily to him despite the height he carried like a sin, against the unrelenting wave of hatred directed toward him. Ribs, sore and maybe broken, kept him hunched over and the jostle of the wooden cart he rode in did him no favors.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jared murmured to himself, unable to wipe the filth away. “Doesn’t matter anymore.” With as much fortitude as he could muster, Jared pulled back his shoulders—no easy feat given the way he was bound and with what lay before him—and dared, for the first time, to face his destination straightaway.

With a sharp thud, the men pulling the cart—no horses had even survived the journey, leaving them to perform all the beasts’ tasks—dropped the shafts and Jared tumbled forward with the pull of gravity. His head struck a slat and he crumpled to his knees. Vision swimming, he didn’t have a chance to separate earth from sky before rough hands, oblivious to the bruises and cuts along his arms, grabbed him up and dragged him across the planks of the cart, shards of wood rending already-wounded flesh in the process. Despite what he had told himself, Jared still fought against the uncaring men, clawed at the dry ground with broken and dislocated fingers while they pulled him inexorably toward the pole and his fate. He was going to die, had known it in his heart from the first moment he had made his devil’s deal, but there was still life within his breast and while he drew air, he would not go easily. He was certain that his lover hadn’t and Jared would honor him the only way left to him.

_“Do you believe in God?” he wondered. Here, in the small house the settlers had given to the priest, Jared finally felt at home. Sweet-smelling herbs hung from the crossbeams and there always was a fire in the hearth, no matter if it was day or night. The furnishings were sparse, but the Father had whatever he needed in the moment. And he always shared with Jared whenever he came calling. For all these reasons and more, Jared dared to ask questions others would think blasphemous when it was merely the two of them, like the house was a haven to his colorless life outside of it._

_The Father looked down at his black cloak before gracing Jared with a wry grin that made him look even younger than he surely was. “What do you think, Jared?” he replied, right eyebrow quirked in amusement. There was a laugh hidden in his even tone, buried under his proper etiquette. Jared had grown to love listening to him even if the mass carried little weight with him or his mother. The way his voice dropped low and rough when condemning hateful acts and then drifted up when speaking of love was near hypnotic. The words did something to him that Jared did not care to inspect too closely._

_He ducked his head, letting his wayward fringe cover his downturned eyes. The fire in the hearth crackled merrily and the scent of rabbit stew, rich and mouth-watering, filled the small structure and made it cheery. Jared inconspicuously pressed his hands against his stomach, hoping it wouldn’t betray his hunger. He was still paying for his folly with their livestock, no one willing to let him forget the loss of Black Phillip despite their fear of the buck, and food was a touchy matter._

_When the small ship, expected to be heaping with supplies, had finally been spotted, Jared had remained true to his word as always. He’d released Black Phillip, the buck leaping into the woods that surrounded them without even a backward glance. Jared had hoped he would fare better free of them all and not become food for the ones who already lived nearby. Black Phillip was wily when he needed to be and Jared believed he would do all right. For the briefest of moments, he had been tempted to flee with the buck and take his chances as a stranger in a strange land, but his mother needed him and he would never abandon her, so he stayed reluctantly rooted to the spot and watched Black Phillip fade into the distance, one moment a dark smudge against the tree line and then gone the next like he’d never existed at all._

_Luck was probably on the buck’s side, but not theirs. The supply ship had been dashed against the rocks by sudden and rough waters, with only a small pinnace surviving. The lone occupant, a priest sent to minister to their spiritual needs even as the supplies were supposed to fill their earthly ones, managed to raise the sails and make it to shore. Sadly, no foodstuffs had been saved when all the other hands were lost, but the young priest’s survival was hailed as a miracle and a sign of the Lord’s mercies. The settlers would continue to toil under the Lord’s tasks and prove themselves worthy in His eyes, but their souls would no longer be famished._

_Jensen stood up and leaned over the pot, mindful of his dark robes. He heaped a portion of the stew into a wooden bowl and practically shoved it into Jared’s cold hands. “Eat,” he ordered in that kindly way he took with Jared, handing over a plain, carved spoon. Jared opened his mouth to protest, but the priest held up a hand to silence him. It was wide and thick, strong looking. They were not the hands of someone who only counted coin, but those of a working man and Jared tried not to notice that he noticed those details. “I can hear your stomach from here and I would not deny you anything.”_

_Jared was shocked for a moment, but soon came to his senses. Of course, a parish priest would never deny a parishioner under his care. Jared was not special. He was one of the Father’s flock. But the priest’s next words belied the picture Jared had painted._

_“I would never deny you, Jared,” he said softly, firelight turning his emerald eyes golden._

_They stared at one another until the priest shook himself and his eyes were simply green again, like a forest in summer sunshine. “My parishioners make sure I’m well-fed, so it’s no hardship to share a meal with you,” he easily explained, removing anything that could be mistaken for something more. something deeper between them._

_Something forbidden._

_Jared nodded and silently scooped up a spoonful of the stew. It was thick and savory. While Jared had what some unkindly whispered as a preternatural gift when it came to capturing fish or finding other creatures from the sea like crab and oysters to eat, he was hopeless with the animals that lived on land, which suited him fine. He didn’t have the heart to kill or skin them, their eyes and soft fur tugged at his heart too much. He was hungry enough not to deny one cooked by another’s hands, however._

_The silence was not oppressive, but not quite as intimate as before, which was probably for the best. Jared hurriedly ate what he had been offered, wanting to leave the priest to his thoughts and duties, since he was nothing more than one of his flock. But the priest surprised him again._

_“Do_ you _believe in God?” he asked and Jared swallowed hard._

_He remembered a time not long past when he had stood in a clearing and shouted to the Lord, begging and pleading for help a final time. His prayers before had all gone unanswered while he watched his mother wilt like a flower on the vine denied water and sun too long._

_Wiping a dirty hand across his mouth, Jared replied, “I-I am not sure. I don’t think He has ever answered one of my prayers and so it is hard to think He is always watching.” He thought his words were careful enough—honest enough—not to anger the priest too much. He grew weary of always treading carefully, even if it was the only way to live._

_The priest smiled, hair glinting gold in the ruddy light that lit the house. Jared had never been bold enough to ask him how old he was, but in this light, the priest looked not much older than him. Jared found that comforting for some reason. “Ah, but Jared, He always answers prayers. It’s simply that sometimes the answer is ‘no’._

_“Let me try another tack,” he added, while Jared mulled over his words. “Do you believe in the Devil?”_

_Once again, the food caught in Jared’s throat and he struggled this time to swallow, coughing and nearly dropping the bowl to the floor. The priest leaned over, thumping Jared’s back hard once or twice, helping him to clear his breathing. But it also brought him closer to Jared than anyone had been, beside his mother, in longer than he could recall. This close, Jared could even smell the man._

_Beneath the musty scent of wool, beneath the sharp tang of sweat, there was something earthy that hinted of rich and fertile soil like a secret garden; he smelled like life. Jared was intoxicated and frightened in equal turns, wanting to bury his nose along the taut throat so close to him and was revolted by his unholy thoughts at the same time._

_Nearly touching his forehead to Jared’s now that his coughing fit had passed, the priest continued to leave his hand against Jared’s prominent spine. “Do you believe, Jared?” he asked again, quiet like he was sharing a secret._

_And Jared remembered that same clearing, that same desperation drowning him. His mother was dying and no one would raise a hand to help. “It’s the Lord’s will,” the men of the village muttered knowingly, claiming the way she had earned coin in the past had brought this down on her. But all Jared saw when he looked at her wan face was the mother who had done whatever she could to feed and shelter him. And he could do no less for her in return._

_He had stood there, bathed in moonlight, and offered up his soul to whoever would save her. He had asked nothing for himself. Only that his mother would regain her health and have the same chance as the next person to live a long life. To sweeten the pot, he’d agreed to go with the Devil that very instant. There had been no sign that he had been heard. He remembered trembling alone in the silent wood, waiting for a man in a dark cloak, tall hat and leather boots to approach him with a book, demand his signature and promise to give his mother a life of living deliciously all in exchange for that paltry thing called a soul. No man had appeared and he’d signed no book, walking out of the wood very much alive. However, the next morning, his mother had roused herself from her sickbed and began to wash their clothes while a joyful Jared went to try and catch some fish (coincidentally, the first of many successful forays) now that her appetite had suddenly returned._

_Looking deeply into the priest’s eyes, Jared whispered, “I do, Father. I do.”_

_The priest looked at Jared hard, eyes flicking back and forth while he did so. His hand still rested heavily against Jared’s back, but now it moved almost imperceptibly up and down in a soothing stroke. It had taken months of visits for Jared to stop flinching.every time the Father drew near. He was always so fearful of sullying the man. It was different now, with each of them relaxed around the other almost like old friends. Jared offered a sheepish grin and Jensen smiled back, full lips pink with the heat of the fire and slightly shiny from the way he slowly licked them. He cocked his head to one side and there was almost a ruefulness to his expression. “I don’t think you can have one without the other. And, if you please, call me Jensen within these walls.”_

“Please,” he croaked, “not like this.” A small part of him wanted to plead his innocence and denounce his bargain, unwilling to simply lay down and die, but Jared could not lie. He had struck an arrangement and, given the same choices, would gladly do so again. He deserved to suffer in Hell; he simply wished they would dispatch him quicker than this torturous death. “Use the block instead.” One or two strikes would surely be all that it took to cleave his head from his shoulders. The fire would be much, much slower.

“’Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, Exodus 22:18’,” a deep voice decreed. “You’ll burn like the rest of your kind. God-fearing folk have no congress with you.”

Jared whipped his head around despite the throbbing pain of his cheek and saw the tall, broad form of Elder Morgan standing beside the makeshift pyre. He cut an intimidating figure, cloaked from head to foot in black, severe and foreboding against the faded sky. Even hunger hadn’t seen fit to diminish his size, leaving him strong and larger than life to Jared’s eye. Jared swallowed in fear before the man who had taken away every last thing that he had ever held dear, all in the name of the god Morgan worshiped. It was a god that if Jared had believed in, he would rightfully assume had forsaken him. Jared was alone in a world that reviled him. And he vowed once again to want no part of it; he would meet his end with what dignity he could salvage.

Jared, hands and arms bound by heavy ropes, was lashed to the pole at the center of the pyre with iron chains. He hurt too much to fight the men for long and sagged against the rusted metal that bound him to his fate. With nothing left to lose, Jared raised his head and stared at the man who had been the one to haunt his childhood, the one his mother had forsaken everything to traverse an ocean for and, ultimately, the one who had destroyed him.

_“It is because of him, isn’t it?” Jared accused._

_His mother turned away, pretending to busy herself with cutting up the vegetables that Jared had managed to find. He had been so happy only a short while ago, returning with a trove of wild carrots, when he’d spied Elder Morgan all but slinking out of their meager hovel, adjusting his trousers and cloak while he slipped away. The convenience of their hut’s location, on the far perimeter of the settlement and out of sight, was not lost on Jared then._

_“I don’t know what you mean, Jared,” Hepzibah had muttered. She did not, however, meet his eye, instead letting her auburn hair fall about her shoulders loosely and hide her eyes from his accusing glare. Sporting no kerchief on her head in the privacy of their own space, her curls bounced and shone with a health that had rapidly returned after Jared’s promise in the wood. Despite his love for her, however, Jared wanted the truth._

_In two steps, he was beside her and caught her free arm, easily wrapping his fingers around the thin limb. Tugging insistently like he had her skirts as a child, Jared was unrelenting and she eventually turned to face him. She had to tilt her head up, like most in their village did, to meet his gaze. Finally having her attention, he repeated, “He’s the reason we sailed across an ocean to this desolate spot, isn’t it? This was no ‘fresh start’, but you chasing after a man you_ cannot _have.” Jared rarely got angry, but his voice rose dangerously on those last words and his mother drew up her shoulders against the fury that lay beneath them. “He’s_ married _to another.”_

_“…yes,” she finally croaked, admission barely above a whisper._

_Jared deflated with her confession._

_“Why, Mother? It wasn’t a bad life back there. It was a struggle,” he continued, when he saw she wanted to protest, “but we could have made something of our lives. Why did we have to give up_ everything _because of him? Of all the men you-” He stopped himself before he could finish that last accusation, but the damage was already done. His mother crumpled in on herself, shame coloring her cheeks crimson. It tore at his heart to see her thusly, so Jared quickly gathered up her unresisting form into his arms, where she buried her face against his chest._

_Bowing his head, he murmured apologies, quick and fast. Anything to dry her tears. He knew that everything she did, she did for him. Mostly._

_“I just don’t understand why you put him above all others?” he eventually confessed when her tears had slowed. She was silent for a time and he was afraid he had made matters worse. Eventually, however, she raised a tear-stained face to him. He winced at the proof of her grief._

_“You’ve never been in love before, dear boy,” she sniffled, patting him on his chest. “Love makes fools out of the wisest of us. And I,” she paused with a ghost of a grin, rueful and sad, but enough to let the dimples he inherited from her peek out, “have never been that clever. And he,” she stopped to gnaw on her lower lip before adding, “is not just important to me. He-he is for you, too.”_

_Jared puzzled over her words for a moment before the realization slowly washed over him._

_The story Jared had been told as a child, when he was old enough to ask questions but not yet old enough to know better, was that his father was a sailor who had died at sea. It worked for a time, when he was young, to answer the unanswerable. However, it grew harder and harder to fool him about the gentlemen who visited her at all hours, Morgan most of all, when he grew older until he finally had to put away childish notions and accept the truth: he was a bastard and his mother a strumpet. The only reason to single Morgan out because of him meant one thing and one thing alone._

_“He’s my father,” Jared gasped and Hepzibah merely nodded._

“You think you’ve won, haven’t you?” he asked, voice no more than a whisper.

And Morgan smiled, wide and expansive, with righteous glee. “I have God on my side, hellspawn. I was always going to win,” he added loudly, so that the hundred that had gathered would hear him clearly. “God was always on our side.” A well-timed, distant rumble from the heavens seemed to echo its agreement.

“This is no righteous act, but murder,” Jared spat, one last welling of fire left inside him struggling to be heard.

Black, woolen cloak swirling about his knees, Morgan turned away from Jared and instead addressed those gathered.

“How can it be murder, when all we did was the Lord’s work?” he demanded of the crowd, deep voice easily carrying over their murmurs. “How can I murder that which was already damned and soulless? Murder is a crime against my fellow man. I see no such man before me now.”

The men and few women of their settlement nodded amongst themselves.

“You damned your mother more than her wanton ways had already tarnished her soul,” Morgan accused, facing Jared once more. There was no missing the smirk beneath his dark beard and moustache that age had barely begun to silver.

At the mention of his mother, Jared squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let the man see his tears. If anyone’s soul had been damned, it was his and he would fully accept the blame. His mother had neither given her consent nor known of the compact Jared had struck on her behalf. That was a sin he was prepared to be condemned for, but not anything that might come after. That would not on be on him but the man before him and the settlers who helped or stood idle and raised no hand to stop what might transpire. They would all be equally guilty and equally bear the weight of that collective sin.

“She is no wanton!” he screamed in return.

Morgan chuckled, dragging a gloved hand through his beard thoughtfully. “I beg to differ, boy,” he joked and a few of the men nearby laughed aloud. “She was most wanton.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Jared hissed, anger burning bright in his chest even as the rough bindings scraped and tore his already abused flesh and his body started to surrender. He knew, better than most, what Morgan was to his mother and had a moment of triumph when Morgan’s ready grin faltered.

“We have had enough of your lies, misbegotten churl. Enough of the evil you have wrought here. You forged an unholy alliance to heal your mother when God was calling her home.” He strode back and forth, resolute in his purpose, while fallen, dried leaves swirled in his wake. “Your crops flourished when all of ours,” he flung his arm out to include the settlers that remained, “withered on the vine for no reason under the sun. When good men merely trying to fish perished at the hands of the savages that plague this land, savages that stole our silver, you walked amongst them unscathed. Deny it!” he yelled, moving unsteadily across the firewood to poke Jared in his thin chest. The sky continued to grumble with him. He leaned down, broad brim of his tall hat hiding both their faces from view. Morgan licked a stripe across the shell of Jared’s ear and whispered sinfully, “You never should have denied me, boy. I told you that you would pay.” He pulled back and beamed once more at Jared.

Surprising himself, Jared managed to gather enough spit in his mouth to hurl a thick clump of it at Morgan, secretly delighted when it struck its target with unerring accuracy. Morgan’s face twisted in disgust and he backhanded Jared, a few of the youth’s teeth flying from his bloody mouth with Morgan’s fury-driven strength.

Jared let his aching head hang. That was it. He was done. Morgan, however, was not.

“This abomination corrupted his own mother,” Morgan proclaimed, arms spread out toward the witnesses, “leaving us no choice but to save her soul by whatever means we had at hand.” Several present nodded their heads, while Jared noticed from the corner of his swollen eyes that a few dropped their gazes and his heart sunk. He had hoped, stupid as it was, that his blood would have been enough for them.

“And in a final act of redemption, we all took her tainted flesh within ourselves to rid her of the last vestiges of evil on her person.”

Jared flung his head up, finding strength a final time in the empty well that was his broken body. “What?” he gasped, fearful and knowing at the same time. Back where he hailed from, sin-eaters would consume ritual meals of bread and ale after one died to take their sins upon themselves. But this village had no bread, no food to truly speak of anymore and not a dram of ale to drink.

Morgan turned back toward him, sultry smile in place. “We would not let her sacrifice be in vain, boy. These are, after all, the starving times.”

Slamming his eyes shut, Jared saw his mother’s sweet face, head uncovered and her long, brown curls bobbing with the motion of her laughter. A life he damned his soul for, suddenly snuffed out. Worse yet, they had denied her the dignity of a burial and had treated her body no better than a side of beef. Jared swallowed and swallowed again, but it did him no good. Hot bile raced up his throat and he vomited on himself and spattered the split kindling nestled at his feet with his sick. The sour stench did nothing to stop his tears.

“You ate her?” he rasped, head twisting from side to side, wishing he could halt the salty tracks that streaked down his filthy face. He did not want to appear so weak before the monsters that circled around him like carrion crows. “You ate my mother?” he asked again, almost needing to hear the words spoken aloud.

The pink tip of Morgan’s tongue darted out and teased the corner of his mouth, almost as if he was still savoring the taste of her flesh.

“Good to the last swallow, my boy,” he grinned.

Jared couldn’t face him then and, to his great shame, he found his thoughts drifting to another even more dear to him.

“And Jensen?” he whispered, harsh and choked by the sound of that name passing over his lips for the last time.

Morgan’s grin widened.

_“Jensen,” Jared croaked, face pressed up against the Father’s door even though it sent bright sparks of pain shooting into his skull. He would only give himself a moment and if the priest didn’t answer, he’d leave the village forever. There was no way he could stand to remain a moment longer if he didn’t have at least one friend, if he didn’t have one person he could truly confess to. He’d done everything he could for his mother and now it was time he took care of himself._

_Rolling his forehead back and forth on the wooden slats, split lip leaving a smear of red in its wake, Jared only heard the rushing of blood in his ears. For all he knew, Jensen might have been with the women, helping Margery usher in the second new life of their settlement. Although all the men were excluded, perhaps he was treated differently. Mayhap he was standing near Hepzibah as she aided the soon-to-be mother in her time of need, offering his own brand of comfort. Pushing away from the house, Jared scolded himself for thinking that he could ever have anything for himself alone and turned to leave._

_“Jared?” he heard behind him and he whipped around to see the door wide open and the shadow of the priest limned by the orange glow of his small home. Jensen raised an arm and scrubbed roughly at his face. Only then it dawned on Jared the lateness of the hour. Jensen had been abed._

_“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered out the apology, standing uncertainly, half-twisted and ready to bolt. His heart pounded hard against his ribs. He was making a mistake that he would never be able to atone for and he should run, he told himself, run long and far._

_Instead, he stood stalk-still._

_“Come inside,” the priest told him, voice rough and used from sleep, and waved a hand toward the fire within._

_Like a man lost to dreams, Jared walked into the priest’s home, stiff and rigid and unawares until he heard the door shut and barred behind him. Then it was like the air returned to his lungs in a gusty rush and he breathed deeply. In fact, there was too much air, filling him up to the brim and his chest billowed like canvas sheets snapping in a storm. He tried, really he did, to force the air out as much as he could, but Jared wasn’t able to keep up. The walls grew close and fireflies danced in the corners of his eyes. Distantly, he heard the Father call his name in that deep, sure, commanding way of his, but Jared paid him no mind. Knees turning to pudding, he sank down and was simply not there anymore._

_Awareness came back in bits and pieces, like flotsam on a tide. The first thing he knew was that breathing was no longer a battle, which made everything easier. The next was that his cheek was resting on something rough and scratchy. It didn’t hurt, so Jared knew whatever it was was against his uninjured one. The third thing was that when he finally opened his eyes, everything was askew, which meant he was on his side. The fourth was the steady rhythm of fingers combing their way through his tangled hair and the final was that the fourth thing was the best feeling of all._

_“There you are,” came the husky voice Jared knew so well after months of intimate conversations between them._

_Twisting his head, Jared found he had to look up for a change. Jensen’s face hovered above him, a tremulous smile in place barely masking the concern just under the surface. And to see the Father look anything less than in total control stabbed deeply at Jared, made him want to fix whatever was broken. Before the words came out, however, he pieced the puzzle together and Jared realized he was lying in the other man’s lap. He rolled off him and scrabbled a few feet away, banging his back against a chair that screeched along the floorboards and nearly upended the Father’s table._

_“You are a walking calamity,” the priest tried to jest, holding his hands out in a calming gesture, still clutching a damp rag—tinged pink—in one of them._

_Jared brought a shaky hand up to his wounded mouth and then everything came back to Jared in a rush. Elder Morgan calling for his mother and not leaving when Jared explained she was with the other women and Margery. Morgan’s easy grin while he shook off his coat, no plans to leave despite Jared’s earnest requests that soon enough turned into pleading. The hands that grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss, biting at his lips and comparing his eyes to his mother’s blue-green-gold ones. The hands that shoved him down on the floor and tore at his pants. The hands…_

_“Jared,” a voice snapped. “Breathe, Jared, breathe.”_

_The hands that held his shoulders now did so with care. Jared blinked and focused on them instead._

_“You had an accident, yes?” Jensen asked, ducking his head in an effort to catch Jared’s skittering gaze. “Is your mother all right? Is that why you’re here, dear boy?” Jensen knew how important she was to him. “Does she need help?”_

_Jared concentrated on the steady green of the Father’s eyes and tried to control his once again runaway breath. He shook his head violently, hair tumbling across his face. “My mother,” he began, weak and uncertain, “is with the others. The baby comes.”_

_Jensen nodded. “Margery. Yes, it is her time, isn’t it? If not that,” he continued, “then what happened. How did you hurt yourself?”_

_And Jared took a moment. Granted, he had come here for Jensen’s help and, more importantly, his understanding. Now that he was here, however, Morgan’s promises of retribution came back to haunt him. He didn’t want Jensen to pay for Jared’s wrongness. He knew what he needed to do._

“Ah, let us not forget the dear Father, whose faith was not strong in the face of evil incarnate,” he said, addressing the settlers once more. “A man of God himself was not stalwart enough against the viper nestled in our very bosom. We saved him, just as we saved your mother, whelp of Satan,” he continued, spinning around to face Jared.

With that sickening revelation, Jared could not stop the second rush of bile that scorched its way up his throat. He fouled himself again, now stinking of sour grief.

It took a moment before he was able to catch his breath and ask, “You ate him as well?” Jared shut his eyes tight and tried not to think of anything other than the Father’s easy smile and the feel of his full lips pressed against his body. If he was going to burn, he would hold tight to those memories until the flames claimed him.

“While we could not bury him facing Jerusalem, as was his due, not after your foul hands corrupted him, we did grant him burial rights,” Morgan eventually replied.

Jared’s head dropped, chin resting against his sternum, in relief. At least Jensen had been spared that unholy communion that his mother had fallen prey to. His relief, however, did not last.

“Three days ago, we drew and quartered him, burying the hanks of flesh here and there, so you could not refashion him to do your unholy bidding,” Morgan finished with delight.

There was nothing left for Jared to expel from his empty stomach, not even another thread of rank, yellow spittle like the one that still dangled from his chapped lips. He had naught left to give and no spectacle left to offer the crowd that once again grew violent. Another melon, rotted and foul, struck him in the chest, covering him in the stench of sickly-sweet decay. He was done. However, he did have one last message to share with those gathered ‘round.

“I may be damned,” he whispered, raising a weak head to face those that had been his home and his brethren, “and rightfully deserve my place in Hell.”

They cheered at his words, taking them for a declaration of defeat.

“But my circle of Hell shall surely lie shallower than yours for all the sins that have corrupted _your_ souls. If I were able,” he added, “I would collect them all now and happily lay them at my master’s feet. I’ve never wished harm on another before in my entire life,” his eyes raked the crowd, passing over Chadwick and other boyhood friends before finally settling on Morgan, “but I so wish it now. I would rain hellfire upon you all if it were in my powers.” A bolt of lightning cracked the sky behind him.

Some of the gathered folk began to whisper and shift in unease over the words that hung upon them like a pall. Morgan’s gaze darted from Jared’s haggard visage to those surrounding them, like he could sense their growing fear.

“But you have no powers, do you? No master to aid you when faced with the righteous. We will always overcome evil with the strength of our beliefs. Our God has not forsaken us,” Morgan crowed in delight, “like yours has abandoned you. We stand tall in His image.”

He turned away from Jared and fully faced the villagers. “With his death, the stain will be lifted from our homes and bosom.” Some of the murmuring paused. “Our crops will no longer rot before harvest,” he promised them, gaining a few cheers with that proclamation. “The savages will no longer steal from us and murder our innocent brethren,” he swore, “no longer having the protection that this one must have provided them.” He swung a finger accusingly at Jared. That got more of Morgan’s followers to raise their voices in tribute to their Lord. “We will have proven ourselves worthy to God and the Kingdom of Heaven shall be ours on Earth as well.” And another crack of lightning flashed, both startling and fortifying the gathered simultaneously.

Some one hundred voices roared their approval and Morgan shot Jared a last look filled with triumph. To his credit, Jared met him best he could.

Morgan was handed a flaming torch by one of the others and his mouth curled up in delight. He walked the uneven path, picking his steps carefully along the firewood, to stand before Jared. Despite all his resolutions, Jared knew there was fear in his eyes. Morgan seemed to bask in that more than he did the warm glow of the flames that gave his face the false shine of health.

“I condemn you to the Pit, boy,” he continued, waving the torch close to Jared’s eyes, delighting in the way Jared recoiled from the sudden heat. “May you burn for all eternity.”

“I’ll see you butchers there soon enough,” he called out to his witnesses. Jared’s gaze darted from the torch to Morgan’s dark eyes. “And perhaps then I will have the pleasure of _your_ company,” he told the man and silently praised himself for the last dregs of strength he was able to muster. “You can count on it,” he promised Morgan with a crooked, bloody smile, teeth now stained red. And he must have been a sight to behold, when Morgan flinched back at his oath.

“Go to Hell,” Morgan hissed, tossing his torch onto the heaping pile of split wood, before stepping back with his thick, heavy boots, careful to pull his cloak close to him and not get singed.

The wood caught quickly, having seasoned for over a year. The flames licked and skittered across the split logs, racing each other ‘round as they consumed all the fuel they could. The pop and hiss of the crackling was almost cheerful and Jared smiled at the thought that at least the fire was warm. He was so cold and tired, bleeding and broken, that his muddled mind began to suspect that perhaps the flames weren’t so bad after all.

The smoke, however, roused him back to full awareness. It was the heavier aroma of oak, but Jared also detected the sweeter scent of maple mixed in, too, and he laughed. In the last moments of his life, he acted like a vintner, discerning the various flavors of his wares. His laughing soon turned to coughing, the smoke swirling about him in thicker and thicker clouds. He squinted through its growing haze, the setting sun seeming to light everything ablaze.

They were all there, surrounding him. Chadwick and the other lads cheered and whooped while the flames grew in strength. The women weren’t far away, either, even the two with new babes clutched tight to their chests. And before them all was Morgan, gleeful and triumphant in Jared’s death. These people were supposed to have been, if not friends, his comrades united against the common adversities their new village faced. Jared had toiled not just for his mother (oh, how that word made him ache even in the end), but for all of them as well and they had _eaten_ her. The same men that had made use of her body behind their wives’ backs, who had taken and taken and never given anything in return save for a few coins, had stolen the last bit of her away from Jared and he saw red.

“Murderers!” he screamed. For one moment, his voice was fierce, not choked with smoke and blood, and it rang out above the thunder and the flames. “I curse you all!” And Jared meant it from the deepest part of himself; he wanted them all dead. They deserved it.

But his brief burst of righteous fury soon burned itself out, no match for the smoke that thickened and slowly obscured his sight. Choking from it, Jared didn’t feel the flames yet. While everything grew hazy and the villagers blurry and unfocused to his eye, Jared believed the smoke might do him a mercy and claim him before the flames even reached his feet. Perhaps someone was watching out for him after all, even if only in the end. And the irony of the situation became too much for him. Peals of laughter spilled from his bloody lips. A part of him knew he must have appeared mad, but he was beyond caring. He kept at it until his laughter faltered into cackles and finally gagging coughs. Twisting his head around, he took a last look at the others, faces reflecting Jared’s pyre against the gathering gloom. They looked pretty to him, eyes sparkling and mouths open with laughter. The last time he’d seen them all so giddy had been when Jensen had made landfall.

_“Everyone, pull!” Jared shouted, first into the rough waves. He’d joined the other men on the shore the moment the ship had been spotted, just as horrified as the rest when it crashed against the rocks in the sudden storm that had risen up from nothing, all hands and cargo surely lost. And when all had seemed most hopeless, a reprieve came. A small pinnace bobbed into view, waving its white sail against the wheeling, dark clouds._

_When the boat grew close enough, the lone occupant tossed a rope in their direction and Jared hadn’t hesitated. Slogging and splashing his way through the rough chop until the seawater had seeped above his chest, he’d grabbed the lifeline thrown by the dark figure and lashed the rope ‘round his forearm several times before screaming for help. Although it was hard to see in the stinging spray, it had seemed like the cloaked figure had smiled just for him in that instant and a flare of something bone deep, like a real connection had been forged between them. It was surely madness, he thought, but felt it true nonetheless. Others eventually joined in to pull the man to shore where they had welcomed the newcomer with cheers and well-wishes, but all Jared remembered was that for a moment, they had been the only two souls in the world._

“Jensen!” Jared screamed, or tried to, sputtering and spitting out the name a final time. If he was to die, let that be the last word to pass over his lips and let them all bear witness. Squinting against the smoke, however, Jared was confused by what he saw. They weren’t smiling any longer, but had faces washed snow-white with what could only have been fear. It didn’t make any sense to his muddled brain. Why should they care now? Was he truly such a sight, nearly alight with the flames they themselves had set? Was there finally an ounce of remorse in them, whose hands were steeped in innocent blood?

Another crash of lightning, this time close enough to rattle even Jared’s chains, rent the sky and swarms of crows spilled from the barren wood, blotting out with wings and shrieks what was left of the setting sun. Weakly, Jared tried to follow what was happening, but nothing made sense. The villagers were falling back even as the flames waned before him like the Red Seas had for Moses. And then it didn’t matter anymore because Jensen was standing before him, cloak spread around him like a blackbird’s wing. A dark, avenging spirit come to claim Jared in the end. If this was who was meant to carry him to Hell, he’d gladly follow. And maybe Hell wouldn’t be so terrible a fate after all.

He smiled, tremulous and tinged with pink foam at the corners of his lips, before the face that was so dear to him and suddenly Jensen was right there, holding Jared with those strong hands. And not even iron chains withstood that strength, falling away at a mere touch like autumn leaves in a stiff wind. Jared collapsed against Jensen’s chest, suddenly so weary and grateful that they should be together in this time and place. He was barely aware of the other man scooping him up easily and cradling him close. Jared wanted to warn him about the fire, to watch his cloak and beware the sparks, but he wasn’t strong enough. Now that Jensen was there, he let go that last bit of fight he had left.

“This is what dying must feel like,” he rasped to himself.

“Shh,” Jensen soothed, and the sound rumbled through the other man’s chest like thunder. He snuggled close, ignoring the way Jensen’s cloak scratched his torn flesh. He wanted to stay forever wrapped in the other’s embrace, but all too soon, he felt himself lowered to the rough ground. He must have whimpered, because Jensen lay a hand against the side of his face, thumb briefly brushing against the mark to the left of his nose. Jared’s lips cracked in another weak smile at that familiar gesture he was sure he would never feel again. Blood dripped from his lips and Jensen dragged a thumb through the mess before walking away.

Jared rested on his side, uncertain of his bearings. Were they already in Hell and Jensen had left him to his fate without another word? Heat pushed at his bare back like a living thing, but when he looked around, Jared only saw the villagers, their faces lit by the yellow flames and occasionally flashing white with the lightning that continued to crash around them. His body ached, but that was no surprise. Surely Hell would not heal him. Or mayhap it would only to break him again and again on its rack. But if this _was_ Hell, he tried to reason, then why was it so quiet? It was almost tranquil, he told himself, with the crackle of flames and rolling thunder, nothing at all like the brimstone and torture of the Pit promised by the Good Book. And then the screaming started.

Jared struggled to get an arm under him, not even noticing the ropes that had bound his wrists together were long since gone. He propped himself up by an elbow and watched the shadows and sparks whirl around him, funneling up into a growing darkness that was blacker than night. Faces blurred and darted about, making it harder and harder to track what was happening. He thought he caught a glimpse of Morgan, pale and quaking with fear, a moment before a dark shadow swallowed him from view. But the longer he stared, the more Jared eventually saw how all the settlers had melted into one another until at last he understood the village was a singular beast, driven mad with hunger, snapping and consuming everything in its path. It had destroyed his mother, taken away Jensen and nearly killed him. It _needed_ to be stopped.

One by one, the screams surged up into one massive shriek—ear-piercing like it might shatter the very night—and Jared fell back to the ground, clutching his ears against the cacophony. Writhing in pain, he strained to see why the beast shouted so. From where he lay, he watched a great hawk separate itself from the broken sky and dive repeatedly at the monster, finally finding purchase on its back. With gleaming talons, it ripped into the beast’s nape and shredded everything within its grasp. When the predator finally soared into the heavens once more, ribbons of flesh waved like banners from its claws and a shower of rose petals fell from its wake. Jared blinked up uncomprehendingly into the night, feeling the petals splatter against his cheeks like warm rain, a sensation completely foreign to him after a three years’ absence. The heavy scent of iron filled the air.

Jared lay there looking up, arms now outstretched in the ensuing silence, waiting for the hawk to come and eventually claim him, too. And when the giant bird of prey swooped low, Jared welcomed his fate. Landing a few feet distant, the creature hopped closer, filling Jared’s vision completely, its gait growing smoother with each step until the feet before him were not the curled claws of a bird, but those of a man encased in leather boots. Jared followed the line of boots, past trousers and shirts, all the way up to find Jensen’s grim face.

Covered in blood that shone slick-black in the firelight, his presence was more welcome to Jared than any angel’s. “Come to finally take me?” he croaked out.

Then Jensen kneeled next to him, quick like he was, and reached out a hand to stroke his face. This close, Jared saw that Jensen had a smattering of freckles across his nose and that stuck him odd he had never noticed until now. “You’re beautiful,” he gasped.

Jensen smiled then. Lightly dragging his fingers down Jared’s bare forehead and gently trailing them over his eyes, he whispered, “Sleep, Jared.”

And Jared could never refuse him anything. Like the Devil holding fast to eyelids on a gray day, his closed tight without a moment’s hesitation, sleep wrapping him up in soothing, cool arms.

Jared dreamt of flying.

Awareness, when it returned, did so gradually. Jared sighed and settled deeper into the pillow, not wanting to wake from the dream that was so freeing. Something tickled his nose and he batted ineffectually at it before finally prying open his eyes. He blinked sleepily, trying to gain his bearings and then blinked again.

He found himself in a room he had never seen before, with sunlight streaming through windows made from actual glass, light winking playfully along polished floors. Glass windows, his mind stuttered. He hadn’t seen those since before he’d left England and then only in church. There was a clean, slightly sweet scent to the air that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was the yeasty aroma of fresh bread and warm at the same time, like he was inhaling a blanket on a cold morn. Jared sat up abruptly, covers spilling into his lap. And then he dragged his hands along the bed coverings, finer fabric than he had ever touched in his whole life. The sheets were a whisper against his skin, nearly obscene in their decadence. And the bed was a marvel, he noted, twisting about. Carved of a dark wood that was nearly black, the thing was monstrous in size, and whatever he was resting upon, more like a cloud than anything earthly, was far more luxurious than the straw pallets he had grown up with. He pushed experimentally against the mattress and then he noticed his arms.

Lifting them up, Jared twisted them ‘round, flipping his hands back and forth. He was whole, skin unblemished and smooth without a hint of the brutal wounds so recently inflicted upon him. He wiggled his fingers experimentally and none were broken. Looking down, he realized his torso was the same and breathing no longer pained him. Raising his head, he absently brushed his hair from his eyes and then was struck that his hair had regrown while he slept. Running his tongue over his teeth, they were all accounted for as well, with no juicy gaps like there had been the night (week, month, year?) before. Miracle upon miracle was heaped atop him and Jared was dumbstruck. Was this how it started in Hell? Was one made whole before everything was flayed away from bone and sinew?

Before his thoughts spun further out of control, the door opposite the bed slowly, silently opened. Jared stared, breath held, until a familiar face peered ‘round it. “Jensen,” he exhaled, part relief and part wonder.

Jensen’s full lips quirked up in a grin. “Finally awake, slugabed?” he asked, stepping fully into the room.

Jared was tongue-tied by what he saw. No longer draped from head to toe in his priestly garb, Jensen wore a simple, white shirt unlaced and open, exposing his strong, smooth chest. His pants were dark, but also plain like a workman’s and Jared tried to suppress a laugh when he further realized that the man had no shoes or stock on, bare toes padding against the floor with comfortable ease like some great cat.

“Jensen,” he started, falling silent when the other man sat down with sure familiarity on the large bed. There were acres of space and yet he perched himself close enough to brush Jared’s legs with his hip, the touch sending a tremor through him.

In the white room, Jensen’s hair was nearly golden, also something Jared had never taken notice of in their dreary village. His freckles were prominent and Jared marveled that he had been blind to them before yesterday. They gave Jensen a boyish charm that belied his obvious years and he found himself reaching out to trace their pattern before yanking his hand back like it might be burned, cradling it close to his chest. Jensen merely laughed and snatched his hand back, holding it captive between his two strong ones.

“You can touch me, Jared,” he reassured him, voice still like distant thunder.

Jared didn’t move, but he didn’t pull his hand away, either. “What…” he began, trailing away a moment later. “Where…” he continued, before losing his track once more. He couldn’t fathom where to begin with the hundreds of questions dancing in his head.

“You’re safe in this place,” Jensen offered immediately. “Everything here is mine.”

And Jared knew he meant the room, wherever they were. Knew that Jensen should have been taking in the walls, the furniture, the solid door with his pointed look. But Jensen’s gaze never wavered from his face.

Jensen’s easy smile softened and nearly vanished when he nodded knowingly. “You have questions,” he replied.

Jared licked his lips nervously and nodded so vigorously that his newly-returned hair tumbled into his eyes once more. Before he even thought to clear it away, Jensen freed one of his hands and gently combed his fringe aside, tenderly tucking a few strands behind his left ear and let his hand remain there. Jared helplessly pressed his face against the open palm, welcoming the comfort in his touch.

“I have answers. Are you sure you’re ready to hear them?” Jared nodded against his hand.

“I-I…Jensen, you were dead. Morgan said he killed you,” Jared stuttered, shocking himself with the quick sting to his eyes, tears brimming and only waiting for the slightest permission to tumble free. “My mother,” he whispered wetly, unable to voice the fate that had befallen her.

Jensen shifted closer and drew him into an embrace Jared willingly accepted. He craved the shelter of those arms thought forever lost. And then he yanked away with a gasp.

“My mother,” he repeated, eyes widening with hope. “If you came back, surely she could, too. Can’t that happen?”

Jensen gripped him firmly by the shoulders, expression sad and stern at the same time. “Jared, it took _me_ three days to rise.” He stared hard at Jared like that alone would make him understand. “Three days.”

Jared’s puzzled look warped into slow-creeping horror. He pulled back and looked frantically about the room. “Where are we?” he gasped. No longer able to avoid it, he finally asked the most important question. “Who _are_ you?”

Jensen left his hands resting calmly on the bed and made no move to touch him further. “Who do you think, Jared?”

Jared was speechless. The _Bishop’s Bible_ only spoke of one who could rise after three days and while Jensen had the face of an angel and had wrought miracles, there was something unholy about him. While he stared, a trick of the light momentarily cast Jensen’s face in shadow and Jared swore, if only for an instant, Black Phillip looked back at him.

“’And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth’,” he whispered, “’and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spoke as did the dragon’.”

Jensen grinned. “Revelations 13:11.” And Jensen leaned close, voice dropping low and sweet, “This know also, that in the last days, perilous times shall be at hand. And men shall be lovers of their own selves. Covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to fathers and mothers, unthankful, ungodly. Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, riotous, fierce, despisers of them which are good’.” He raised an eyebrow, almost daring Jared to disagree.

Jared lowered his gaze and worried his hands in the silken sheets. “The Second Epistle of Paul to Timothy.” His heart fluttered against his ribs like a caged bird railed at its prison. Was he truly in the presence of…

“Calvin and Luther had it wrong,” Jensen interrupted his whirlwind thoughts. “Why would I make a home in Rome when there is a whole, wide world to travel across? I am never in one place long, least of all that stuffy, pompous city.”

“If you can travel like that, be who you are,” Jared insisted, his mother’s death still unreal and far too close for comfort, “why can’t you save her? Why can’t you do that for me.”

Jensen breathed deep, but offered no other explanation. Jared’s mind darted about, desperate to understand why he was denied this thing. And then it came to him.

“Is it because I have nothing left to give?” Jared rasped. “Because I’m used up and worthless now to you?” It had to be that, because Jensen was the Devil and he was a deceiver and a thief and the father of lies in the end. 

“No,” Jensen snapped and surged forward, catching Jared’s face between his hands, thumbs wiping with surprising care the tears that spilled. “She was never mine, Jared. Much as I wish it were otherwise. I cannot lift a hand to do more than I had already done. I am so sorry, dear one,” he paused and pulled Jared close. “There are some rules even I am bound by.”

Jared tucked his head under Jensen’s chin, leaning against his strong chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart. He wasn’t yet reconciled with his loss, but something else pushed its way forward. “But you could save me, heal me, because I’m yours?”

Jensen leaned back to look him in the eye. “You have been mine since you gave me your blood and your body.”

_“I should have never come here, Father,” Jared stuttered, slipping back to formalities. He would rather die than have any harm befall Jensen and so he shrugged out of the comforting grip and made to push himself from the floor and flee. Jensen, however, was having none of it._

_“Don’t run from me,” he implored, once again holding his hands out, but not restraining Jared in any way. “Something’s happened and you came to me for help. What kind of priest,” he paused, licked his full lips and continued, “what kind of person would I be to turn my back on you in your hour of need?”_

_Jared rolled his lower lip in and held it in place with the row of his upper teeth, almost immediately hissing at the pain that habit caused._

_Jensen, still slow and deliberate, knee-walked over to Jared and gently placed a thumb against the swell of Jared’s lower lip. Jared stared at those green eyes, more lush and inviting than any forest, and held his breath. Pulling his finger back with a rasp of callused flesh, Jensen held it up for them both to see. “Who hurt you, Jared? Who did this to you?”_

_Jared wanted to turn away in shame and fear, but it was like he couldn’t refuse the other man, damned be the consequences. “Morgan,” he exhaled in a rush._

_At the sound of the village elder’s name, Jensen’s expression hardened. “Tell me everything.”_

_The shadows cast from the hearth fire danced and skipped over his chiseled cheeks and chin and if Jared didn’t know him like he did, he would be sore afraid at the sight the older man made. But Jared_ did _know him and so he spoke without fear for himself._

_“He came to call on my mother,” Jared began, voice hushed. He had told Jensen about his mother’s ways although he suspected that Jensen had known all along. Jared looked away slightly and he continued slowly, “but she had gone to help Margery and I told him as much.” Jared turned back and held Jensen’s gaze fast. “I did tell him to go,” he pleaded earnestly, “I did.”_

_Jensen moved closer to sit cross-legged nearly nose-to-nose with Jared like they were children on the wooden floor and captured one of Jared’s hands that fluttered about nervously. “I believe you,” he replied solemnly. “Tell me everything, Jared.”_

_Pursing his lips, Jared shook his head in disbelief. “He wouldn’t go, but smiled in that sly way of his and slipped off his cloak and hat. And the things he said…”_

_“Confess them to me,” Jensen finally insisted when he had remained quiet too long._

_Jared couldn’t meet his eye when he eventually continued. “He said I had my mother’s eyes and her hair and her long-since lost youth. He kept coming closer until I found myself in the corner of our house with nowhere to run. He’s not much taller, but he’s so much bigger,” he added, voice hardly more than a whisper._

_“He has a good two or more stone on you, Jared,” Jensen offered his understanding, although his face remained grim._

_“I finally pushed against him because he had crowded me so; I had no choice even though I knew it would anger him. But he only grinned and grabbed me, pulling me in and then he-he kissed me,” Jared stuttered, free hand tracing his swollen mouth. “My first kiss,” he rasped, shocked when Jensen squeezed his other hand firmly. Jared dared to look at the priest and found only understanding in his gaze. “I fought against his grip, but that made him laugh and then he bit at me like he meant to eat me alive. I don’t know how I ended up on the floor, but suddenly he was looming above me and reaching for the fastenings on his trousers._

_“I froze and shouted out the first thing that I could,” Jared rasped. Jensen nodded, silent but not judgmental, and Jared was able to continue. “I confessed to him that I was his son. And do you know what he did?”_

_Jensen only shook his head._

_“He laughed. He laughed,” Jared repeated, voice rising the second time. “He said it hardly mattered, because he_ knew _I’d made a Devil’s bargain for my mother and if,” Jared shuddered and tried to collect himself. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And if I’d spread my legs for the Beast like a wanton, then it would be no sin for me to spread myself for him.”_

_Jared swallowed hard against the bile trying to claw its way up his throat. “He dropped to his knees, trousers about his ankles and grabbed at my clothes. I did the only thing I could think of and kneed him in his manhood. He crumpled to the ground, cupping himself and crying out in pain. I was able to wiggle out from under him and was almost to the door when he called out that if I told anyone, even you, he’d make sure the tale went no farther.” He was gasping for air and sweating by that time, heart racing fast enough that he was near dizzy with it all._

_“Jensen, I didn’t know where to turn and I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, practically clawing at Jensen’s robes. “I shouldn’t have come here. It was selfish,” he berated himself, freeing one hand to drag it miserably across his watery eyes, “but I have no one else. And,” he hiccuped, chest heaving, “I never spread my legs for anyone.” Why that was so important for Jensen to understand was not something he wanted to dwell upon. But if Jensen only believed one thing of him, this was what Jared wanted him to know. He shouldn’t have worried._

_“I know,” Jensen said like he was issuing a decree and pulled Jared tight against his chest. “I know you’re pure.”_

_Jared choked at that pronouncement and lifted his tear-streaked face ready to reveal his sins, but one look from Jensen left him speechless._

_Keeping one hand around Jared’s shoulders, he freed his other and lightly traced the curve of Jared’s cheek when he spoke again. “You_ are _pure,” he insisted softly. “You never come to me to ask for yourself. You help the others even though they don’t give two pence about your wellbeing. And you dote on your mother as any loyal son should. ‘Thou art all fair, oh my love, and no spot is there in thee’,” he finished and there was near reverence in his tone when he quoted the Song of Songs. His finger slipped across Jared’s cheek to brush against the mole near his nose and he smiled gently at what must have been Jared’s shock._

_“I-I’m covered in spots,” Jared rambled, unable to think of something more profound to say._

_Jensen tipped his head back and laughed, a sound deep and rich like the crack of a fire on a cold night. “Your spots,” he continued, once he had collected himself, “are beautiful and unique, like you are.”_

_Suddenly hot and confused by the words, Jared shifted uneasily and began to babble. “I’m too tall, too riddled with spots to ever be-” He was silenced by the press of Jensen’s full lips against his own._

_For a moment, Jared’s eyes widened in shock and he was paralyzed, uncertain what to do. Should he push Jensen away? Breathe through his nose? Press back somehow? Jensen didn’t seem to notice, slowly, sinfully brushing his lips back and forth against Jared’s before gently sucking his wounded, lower lip into his mouth. The action nothing like Morgan’s brutality, but almost delicate and he felt the tug all the way down to his groin._

_Jared sighed, not realizing his eyes had closed, when Jensen’s tongue first flicked against the split that still bled, albeit sluggishly. The touch was light, snake-quick and painless. After his lip was freed with a slippery pop, his head followed the other man’s, like he couldn’t bear to lose the connection between them, when Jensen finally pulled back. And that was almost more shocking than Jensen’s kissing him._

_Jensen’s lips glistened in the firelight, slick and darkened with Jared’s blood, and Jared wasn’t able to resist. This time he crawled forward (how the priest’s eyes darkened while he watched Jared on hands and knees sway toward him) and pressed up into Jensen’s space. With a hesitant touch, Jared smeared the blood off the plump swell of Jensen’s lower lip and then did his best to mimic what the other man had done to him._

_At first, he merely held his lips against Jensen’s, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Fortunately, Jensen seemed willing to let Jared set their course, only parting his lips slightly at the younger man’s touch. Jared repeated the motion and then they were breathing each other’s air like it was meant to be. It should have been awkward. It should have been so many shades of wrong, but Jared was almost overcome with the absence of guilt. Here he was, kissing another_ man _(something the Bishop’s Bible forbade), and there was no shame in it all, only pleasure. Growing bolder, Jared pushed farther into Jensen and, like a calf taking its first wobbly step, gently licked along the shape of the other man’s luscious mouth like it was a forbidden fruit. Jensen groaned deeply and wrapped Jared in his arms, pulling him in tight. He tumbled into him and Jensen only held him tighter, making breathing nigh on impossible. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t spare a care for something that was suddenly obsolete._

_Jensen eventually took control and eased Jared onto the floor. When he broke their kiss, Jensen was above him, body eclipsing all the light so that the only color in Jared’s world was the glint of gold at the tips of his short hair and the spring-green in his eyes. Jared stared deeply into them and his heart was calm. Maybe they had always been building up to this moment. Months of conversation, confessions, and laughter—so foreign a sound in the rest of his drab existence—between them had forged a bond so deep that nothing could put asunder. Maybe Jared could have this one thing for himself, selfish as that might be, and have a memory to cherish and carry with him into the next world where he would surely burn. This was worth the Pit. This was worth everything._

_The look Jensen gave him pierced his very heart and filled him with a sweet ache he didn’t know how to ease. His arms slipped away to paw at his clothes. The heat was too much and he suddenly needed to be free of cloth that was now more prison than anything else. He pushed himself up on his elbows and struggled with ties and laces until he somehow had managed to rid himself of everything. When he dared glance back, he was struck dumb._

_Jensen was now kneeling before him, also completely nude. But where Jared was stretched too lean, Jensen had proportions that seemed perfect to his untrained eye. He was smooth everywhere that Jared could see, muscles sliding easily like slow waves under his skin when he shifted closer, inviting Jared to touch without a word. And Jared took what was offered._

_Sitting up, Jared reached out with both hands. He let his fingers trip down Jensen’s broad shoulders, dipping inward across his firm chest to brush over stiff nipples. Jensen shuddered at the touch, but Jared felt it skitter across his own skin, too, like they were connected and the pleasure one experienced was mirrored in the other. He drew patterns across the other man’s skin, finally pressing one hand flat against Jensen’s taut abdomen, feeling the bunch and release of the muscles underneath. The rush of sensations was heady and Jared wondered if this is what it was to be drunk: dizzy, hazy and wanting something he had no name for, but delirious for it nonetheless._

_Finally lowering a hand, Jared bumped into Jensen’s hard, jutting member. It should have been wrong. It should have been dirty, but Jared didn’t even hesitate when he stroked the rigid flesh, so different and yet the same as his. He moved his hand back and forth, mesmerized by the sight of Jensen’s swollen cockhead, nearly purple, peeking out and then almost disappearing as the foreskin slid back and forth with Jared’s fist. Growing bolder every moment, Jared fondled the sack below with his other hand, gently rolling the balls nestled within. When he finally grew brave enough to look up through his lashes at Jensen’s face, he thought the other man unaffected at first until he caught the gleam of sweat, like a line of pearls, along his hairline. And Jensen’s eyes had grown deeper and darker green, if such a thing were possible, beneath his heavy-lidded stare. Jared swallowed hard before wetting his lips, finding it impossible not to lose himself in that look._

_Who knows how long he would have remained there, content merely to fondle the most intimate parts of the other man, if Jensen hadn’t let out a low growl that was anything but human? He caught Jared’s wrists and lifted his hands up and away from his person. Using the leverage, he maneuvered Jared until he was on his back. The hearth fire warming his right side was nothing compared to the heat of Jensen’s gaze as he let it run up and down his body like a living thing, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Trapped by that stare, Jared let himself remain pinned and didn’t even think to try and cover himself up under the intense scrutiny. No one had ever looked at Jared like that, like they were seeing inside of him, like his soul had been bared along with his naked flesh. No one but Jensen had ever bothered to look at him at all and he basked in the attention._

_Leaning closer, Jensen rasped, “Can I, Jared?” eyes burning into him. “Can I have this?”_

_Jared only nodded, not completely sure what it was Jensen wanted. Oddly enough, his mother’s words came back to him then and he realized that perhaps now he did understand what it meant to be in love. Because in that moment, Jared was ready to give Jensen whatever he might demand of him, no matter the cost._

_Jensen smiled at his acquiescence, the expression immediately softening his intense visage. He pulled back for an instant, hand flung out and searching. When he leaned back in, a small bottle appeared by their sides. Jared didn’t think to ask what it was because Jensen was moving him then. Strong hands pushed and bent his legs up until his thighs rested against his thin chest and Jensen was kneeling between them._

_“Hold them fast,” Jensen urged, guiding Jared’s hands until they had ahold of his shins._

_The pose was awkward and Jared was a little fearful now that he had an idea of what Jensen meant to take. He wasn’t really afraid of Jensen, but of his own inexperience. Seeming to sense his unease, Jensen cradled his head with his right hand and swooped down to kiss him like a man desperate for air. Jared practically melted into it, strange as it was to have his hands and legs trapped by the priest’s body pressing down on him. His lips parted of their own accord and Jensen slipped his tongue in, first mapping out the inside of Jared’s cheeks and then teasing along the row of his upper teeth. Jared’s response was timid at first, growing bolder once he’d stroked Jensen’s tongue with his own. He was so lost in the sensations that it took a moment before he felt the pressure of Jensen’s finger rubbing something warm and slick at the opening behind his cock and balls._

_He flinched at first, the touch strange but not painful. However, Jensen was relentless in the gentle way he circled the hole, tapping at the entrance in with a hypnotic rhythm. Jared relaxed slightly, growing used to the touch in a place no one had fondled him before. And when Jensen slipped that maddening finger inside him for the first time, spearing his tongue inside Jared’s mouth in much the same fashion, the moan that escaped Jared was almost wanton._

_Jensen’s lips moved upwards in a slight smile at that, slowly increasing the way he pumped that single finger in and out of him, until he touched something inside of Jared that sent a jolt of fire up his spine and had him seeing fireflies behind closed lids. He barely had time to register the sensations when Jensen eventually replaced his finger with something much, much larger._

_Jared’s eyes flew open when the blunt head of Jensen’s cock nudged against his opening. Jared craned his head and saw it, slick and shiny in the firelight. Whatever Jensen had pushed inside of him was also all over his cock. Jensen had one hand wrapped around himself and, head bowed, was guiding himself inside of Jared with such concentration and care that Jared’s breath caught despite the initial discomfort._

_He must have made a sound, because Jensen quickly raised his head. “Are you all right?”_

_And how did Jared answer that? Was he? “I-I think so,” he whispered, breathing ragged, trying to will his body to accept the massive intrusion. But it was Jensen, he told himself, and that made it all right. Nodding rapidly, he hoped Jensen would just get on with it. He would give Jensen this despite the pain._

_Jensen jerked his head once, quick and decisive, before slowly, inexorably pushing his way inside until his sack rested flush against Jared’s backside. Braced on arms along either side of Jared’s head, he held himself perfectly still while a tiny trickle of sweat slid down the side of his face and neck. He searched Jared’s face until he seemed to find what he was looking for and then, just as slowly, began to pull out._

_Jared was about to ask what was happening when the older man reversed course and thrust back inside, brushing that same spot that he had before and Jared choked out a sigh. It was so much better than touching it with a finger. And the burn lessened the more Jensen worked his way in and out, hitting that place inside him every few thrusts until there was no pain and Jared wanted more. He let go of his legs and wrapped them around Jensen’s waist, crossing his ankles, while twining his arms around the priest’s neck._

_“Harder,” he found himself gritting out, pushing against Jensen’s ass with his heels and raising his hips in time to match his thrusts. “Harder.”_

_Jensen grunted, but redoubled his efforts, hammering his hips harder and harder. Jared jerked back and forth against the floorboards with the force of his pace, but didn’t care. Something was building inside of him, licking up his spine and twisting his stomach in a_ goodbadwrongdirty _way and he couldn’t get enough of it. He dropped his hands to claps Jensen’s shoulders, fingers pressing into the solid fresh so hard he was sure there would be marks later. And a dark, secret part of him liked the idea that he should leave a trace on Jensen’s body, the same way Jensen was with him that no one else would see._

_“Jensen,” he gasped, locking eyes with him and then all the tension that had been building burst free and he was spurting hot and white all over his stomach. The few times Jared had touched himself before, despite the church warnings, had never been like this, like he was soaring above it all. Like he was free._

_When he came back to himself, he blearily opened his eyes to see Jensen push and strain, chasing his own release. And it wouldn’t do to not be more of partner in this with him. Jared tightened his grip around the priest’s waist and pushed up best he could._

_“I’ll take you,” he whispered, smirking when Jensen raised his sweaty face in wonder._

_They moved together, never breaking the look that bound them. Jared urged Jensen on with words and action, until Jensen arched his back and nearly screamed, finally coating Jared inside with his seed. And Jared gasped, shocked, when that wrung a second release from him, adding to the mess on his stomach. What breath he had left was forced out in a great “woof” when Jensen collapsed atop him, drenched in sweat and spent._

_For a time, the only sound was their gasps, hearts pounding against one another in ragged time. Jared idly dragged a hand along Jensen’s back, drawing nonsense symbols and letters until the older man raised his head and slowly smiled._

_“You’re mine now, Jared,” he grinned, sated and content._

_Jared let his fingers trip up Jensen’s spine until they teased the damp hairs at the nape of Jensen’s neck. “I always was,” he swore. “Always.”_

“You gave me your blood and your virginity that night,” Jensen explained.

“Dark magic,” Jared hissed. He wanted to pull away and place some distance between them, but it seemed foolish to do so. Where would he go? And he had brought it all upon himself anyway.

Jensen chucked him under the chin, leaving Jared no choice but to look him in the eye.

“Magic,” he began with thoughtfulness, “to be sure. Most definitely a powerful offering. Jared, a gift is merely a gift. Intention drives it and there was nothing dark about what you gave me.” Jensen stared hard at him, unflinching in his directness, leaving Jared nowhere to hide. “But you did give it of your own free will.” He seemed to be saying something more and searched his face for understanding.

“And you’re bound by rules,” Jared finally finished for him, “despite being the Devil.” The last part was breathy and almost a whisper like he was still afraid to say it aloud.

“Not quite him,” Jensen laughed, eyes creasing slightly at the corners. Instead of making him looker older and more menacing, it simply made him look more human.

“Then who are you?”

Jensen shifted on the bed, making it dip and sway. “Some might say he and I have a more father and son relationship.” Jensen tilted his head and sighed. “Jared, I’ve travelled the world for him and collected many souls. People offer them up for the most selfish of reasons. Beauty, wealth, youth,” he ticked off with one hand. “Sometimes vengeance, sometimes wanting to force someone else to love them…” He exhaled and regarded Jared closely. “I can’t tell you how many years it was always the same song. Certainly, the notes changed from time to time, but the tune was always the same. Until you.”

Jared sat back against the headboard and pulled the sheet higher. “How was I any different?” he wondered softly.

“You,” Jensen paused and laid a possessive hand along his thigh, heat seeping into his bones from the touch, “only offered and asked for someone other than yourself. I cannot tell you how long it’s been since someone turned to me like that. I was,” he stopped and seemed to be searching for the right word, “intrigued. I came here to see you.”

“As the priest,” Jared offered.

Jensen’s smile was slow and sly then. “Before that,” he admitted.

Jared’s brow scrunched up in confusion, gaze darting back and forth trying to guess what Jensen meant when the other man leaned over, rubbing his stubble-roughened cheek against Jared’s smooth one, hot breath tickling his ear.

“Phillip,” Jared exhaled, eyes wide with shock.

“In the flesh,” he grinned, “so to speak. And imagine my surprise when I got here,” he continued, “only to discover someone else already had their eye on this place.”

Jared shook his head, completely baffled. “Who else would care about this forsaken spot?”

Jensen moved closer, turning until he was sitting alongside Jared shoulder to shoulder in that grand bed. He reached down and caught one of Jared’s hands in his own, twining their fingers together and squeezed. Jared squeezed back. “Dear heart,” he continued and there was a hint of admonishment in his tone, “didn’t you ever wonder why this place had such a tragic, failed history? How many times have Englishmen tried to build upon this spot only to be killed or go missing? Failure stacked upon failure? The drought…the hunger?”

“The sunken supplies?” Jared added and he swore he saw Jensen’s cheeks pink up in embarrassment.

“Ah, that one might have been mine,” he admitted. “I needed a way to see you as I am and that was just fortuitous happenstance.”

Jared wasn’t certain “fortuitous” was how he would describe it, given the loss of life, yet he held his tongue.

“But everything else? Yes, that was the work of another.” When Jared remained silent, Jensen raised his eyebrows and twirled his free hand in the air. “All this seemingly unfair misfortune befalling one entity? Does none of this strike a chord with you or sound familiar?”

Jared inhaled deeply and started to admit his ignorance when something tickled his memory. He squinted and shook his head at the realization. “Job?” he offered, disbelief clear in his tone.

Jensen practically beamed at him. “Well done, my boy.”

“ _He_ was testing us all?” Jared continued, unable to completely believe it.

Jensen rubbed a thumb along his hand, slow and steady. “It’s an easy thing to find someone who believes when life is good and fair and smooth,” he eventually explained. “But rock the boat? Make one struggle against seemingly unending hardship? To find a believer then is to find true treasure.”

Jared sat dumbstruck. They had all been tested and found wanting by God himself. “And so you took what was rightfully yours,” he croaked.

Jensen inhaled loudly through his nose and turned away. “They were not mine to take.”

“W-what?” Jared stuttered.

“They made no bargains with me or mine,” he replied. “But they dared to lay hands on what _is_ mine.” The look he gave Jared burned him to his core. “And I am so sorry that I couldn’t stop them before they murdered your mother. They nearly killed you,” he hissed and snaked his hand along the back of Jared’s head, pulling him in for a fierce kiss that would surely have toppled Jared if he’d been standing, so weak in the knees did it leave him. When they pulled apart, Jensen stared at his lips, which were surely swollen and flushed after that.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, shaking his head, clutching their joined hands to his chest.

When he was able to find his voice, Jared asked, “Couldn’t you have brought me back?”

“No.”

“But my soul…” Jared wondered.

“Belongs to you. It always has. You bound your body to me the night we lay together,” Jensen elaborated when Jared continued to gape at him, “but I never accepted your offer. I helped you and your mother without cost. Your soul is still yours and if you had died, you would have been lost to me and belonged to Him.” There was no disguising the distaste in Jensen’s voice then.

“I…I…” Jared floundered, heart racing. He still had his soul. He wasn’t damned. And all the others… “The rest? If their souls weren’t bound to you or your lord,” he tripped over the title but carried on, “won’t you be punished for what you did? You said there were rules.”

Jensen huffed, rueful grin settling back into place. “While they made no bargains with me, they threw away their souls nonetheless, failing test after test after test.” His smiled dropped away then. “They killed your mother and then they took the most unholy of communions with her flesh,” and he paused to kiss Jared’s hand when he heard him inhale brokenly. “They killed me,” he went on, “and they would have murdered you. So many sins heaped up high upon them that salvation was forever beyond their reach. I’ll pay no price for what I did, even though it wasn’t enough for what they took from you.” His words carried the weight of an oath and that wasn’t lost on Jared.

“But others will come soon,” Jared worried. “They’ll wonder what happened. How can that,” he shuddered at the vague memory of limbs torn asunder and blood that had fallen like rain, “be explained?”

“I’ve taken care of it, Jared,” Jensen assured him easily.

“But won’t they wonder at what they find?” Jared insisted.

Jensen pulled him close, cradling his shoulders with one muscled arm. “Oh, they’ll wonder,” he almost laughed and seemed quite pleased with himself. “How they will wonder.”

Sitting next to the cheerful man, Jared tried to dredge up some remorse for his fallen people. He sincerely did. But he was always the misfit to them, shunned unless they needed him for the work no one else would touch. He tried, he really had, to make friends as best he could and follow the teachings of the church. He’d failed in most respects despite the best of intentions and he’d been mostly alone in the end. He desperately struggled to conjure up Chadwick’s easy grin to remind himself at least one person had been his friend, but all he succeeding in seeing were the gleeful faces that danced about his pyre and his mother’s sweet smile now forever lost to him. He searched his heart and found he had no regrets for what had befallen them in the end. And he vaguely wondered what that absence of forgiveness said about him.

He studied the other man (demon?) and chose his words with care and honesty. “No one’s ever seen me the way you do,” Jared admitted softly, now unsure of everything in this white room but his own heart.

“I’ve lived many lifetimes and never found one such as yourself. And I am loath to let you go now that I’ve found you,” he chuckled, but there was a dark possessiveness that ran under the shape of the words that he spoke. Glancing out the bright window, he stiffened next to Jared. “But now is the time, dear one, for you to make a choice. If you want to leave, you can.” He turned back. “Your soul is yours alone and you can have a long life out there,” he gestured vaguely beyond the window. “Or…” And all the calm, all the certainty was washed away with that one word, leaving the other man strangely bereft-looking.

“Vulnerable,” Jared thought. The word he had been searching for was vulnerable. Jensen was vulnerable before _him_.

He played with the fine weave of the sheet in his lap. He _could_ have a life out there. Another life as an outcast, with no one left to him. A life where he might eventually marry if only to silence whispers and fulfill expectations, but love would be forbidden to him. A life, in the end, of pious solitude with heaven as a reward. But one bereft of love.

“Or?” he asked, peeking up.

Jensen grinned. He reached behind his back and when he brought his hand back ‘round, a small, ruby-red apple rested in his palm. Jared hadn’t seen the precious fruit since they’d left England and he marveled at the sight of it. It was perfectly formed and glinted in the sunlight. The meaning of that particular fruit wasn’t lost upon him, however. And when he stared into green, fathomless eyes, Jared understood all that was being offered and all that it would cost.

Jensen leaned closer and whispered sinfully in Jared’s ear, “Would you like to live life deliciously, dear heart?”

***** 

“Governor White, look at this,” one of the men called out. White made his way over, still reeling from the loss of life the landing cost them. Seven men drowned all to get him on shore.

“What have you found there?” he called out.

One of the mariners was pointing to a tree where three letters were visible: CRO.

What’s it mean, sir?” the man asked through blackened and missing teeth.

“I’m not entirely certain,” he confessed, mulling over what the letters might stand for. But the carving was exact and no fluke of nature. One of the colonists had set knife to bark surely as he set pen to paper. Before he’d been forced to leave his daughter and newborn granddaughter, because they’d been in dire straights and desperately needed supplies, White had worked out a system with the others. They’d agreed to leave a secret token for him to find if they’d decided to leave and a cross if that decision had come by force.

“We’ll know more when we get there,” he assured his entourage with more confidence than he felt. But today was his granddaughter’s third birthday and it simply _had_ to be a sign of good fortune.

It didn’t take long before they neared where he remembered the colony to be, but White was startled to see a palisade surrounded it now. And there, in a post near the entrance to the fort, was another carving. Only this one was complete.

CROATOAN

White swallowed back a sense of dread while he watched the others push open the gate to reveal houses in various states of dismantlement. The group moved cautiously through the site, noting the careless way the building materials were scattered. When he found the spot where he had lived with his family, he discovered his trunks, which he’d buried before he left, unearthed and his belongings scattered about. Books were torn asunder, framed maps rotten and spoiled with rain. And his armor, once polished and fine, now eaten through with rust. Kneeling in the mess, he floundered between rage and fear.

“They must be safe,” he whispered to himself. There was no cross pattée in sight, only the one word carved in two spots. He clung to that thought like a lifeline.

“We must get back to the ship,” he informed the first mate. “They’ve moved on to Croatoan Island and we will find them there.”

The other man regarded the looted trunks carefully. Even a fool could see that if the colonists had left intentionally, family heirlooms would not have been abandoned to nature and the savages that inhabited the woods. But he wisely kept his mouth shut and nodded.

White was eager to return to the _Hopewell_ and continue on to find his family. The ship’s captain had listened to him when he explained the system he and the others had and even seemed sympathetic, but when the anchor cable snapped that night, leaving the ship with only one working cable and anchor, he had to deny the man.

“Governor, the chance of wrecking is too great,” he explained to White. “I understand that it’s your family, but I will not risk us all over this. I’ve lost too many of my crew already.”

White, pulling his cloak tighter against the foul weather, slumped in defeat where he stood on deck. He scanned the shore, never spotting any trace of the colonists’ boats. He was certain they’d made their way to the other island. To be so close and yet unable to reach them, like Heaven itself was barring his way…

Perhaps sensing the other man’s misery, the captain relented a little. “We’ll winter in the Caribbean and come back next spring. We’ll find them, Governor,” he promised, clapping him on the shoulder, before calling out orders for them to set sail.

White turned and leaned against the rail, wondering where his daughter and granddaughter were while the shore grew more and more distant.

“Happy birthday, Virginia,” he whispered into the wind, hoping it might carry his wishes to her side, wherever she might be.

**Elsewhen**

Jared laughed and dragged his arm across the water, catching Jensen full in the face with the spray he created. He sputtered, lakewater dripping down into his eyes, and regarded Jared shrewdly before throwing himself at him. Jared barely had time to catch a breath before he was pulled under. Beneath the surface, the two tussled and grappled until Jensen slotted his mouth against his and then they were sharing air and kissing and more. The feeling was familiar and yet Jared couldn’t bring himself to ever take it for granted, even after all this time together.

Breaking the surface, he grinned while he flipped his wet hair out of his eyes. “You don’t play fair,” he teased his lover.

“I never do,” he happily admitted. Jensen crowded up into his space and wrapped his arms about Jared’s trim waist. In the dappled light, Jared was able to see every individual freckle and could easily lose an afternoon cataloging each one.

Like he was reading his mind, Jensen murmured, “We could spend another day here if you like, love,” and pressed another kiss against his cheek.

Jared closed his eyes and tilted his head back, morning sun warming his face. It was a tempting offer, like most of Jensen’s were, but Jared knew him, too.

“You’re restless, aren’t you?” he answered, gaze flicking back and forth between Jensen’s forest eyes. The other man ducked his head almost shyly; however, the look in his eyes was anything but when he brushed his cock against Jared’s, making him jump and shudder.

“This place does have its charms,” he admitted lowly, pressing his firm chest against Jared’s. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

“Well, you know that wherever you go, I go. I can be charming anywhere,” he teased back. “Where did you have in mind?

“I was thinking Salem,” Jensen replied after a moment’s careful thought, leaning in to nose around the curve of Jared’s ear. Brushing his lips across the delicate shell, he breathed, “Want to raise a little hell?”

The End

“Two rabbits runnin' in the ditch  
Oh no, must be the season of the witch”

\- lyrics from “Season of the Witch” by Donovan  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to write this story for about four years now, although I had originally envisioned a much longer tale. I may still rewrite this somewhere down the road, but for now, this will have to do.
> 
> All biblical quotes taken from the Bishop's Bible, which was still the official Bible at that time.
> 
> While there was no proof that any cannibalism occurred at Roanoke, [it did happen in Jamestown](https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/5/130501-jamestown-cannibalism-archeology-science/) a few years later, so I don't think it's too far of a stretch to suggest it might have here as well.
> 
> And while most only think of the Lost Colony when Roanoke is mentioned, the history before those settlers arrived is almost as interesting. There was another colony there first, which failed. And the three left behind by then Governor Lane were never heard from again. Sir Francis Drake may have also left slaves and refugees there as well, because there was no record of them arriving in England when Drake returned. They also remain unaccounted for.
> 
> When Grenville arrived with supplies and men a few days after the evacuation, they could find no one. So he left a 15 man detachment to protect Raleigh's claim to that "Garden of Eden" (Sir Walter Raleigh's words). Two were killed by Native Americans and the remaining 13 fled by boat, never to be heard from again.
> 
> The next attempt would be what is now referred to as the Lost Colony. And while there are many theories, no one to date has ever been able to prove what happened to those men, women and children.


End file.
